Steele for the Holidays
by kgmohror
Summary: Set in season 3. Things have been tense between Steele and Laura since Cannes. Can the holiday spirit melt their frosty moods?


**Steele for the Holidays**

_December 23, 1984_

Laura stared at her reflection in the ladies' room mirror and adjusted her Santa cap to a slightly jauntier angle. Satisfied, she pasted on her brightest smile, held it a few seconds, then let her face collapse back into a frown. Ordinarily, nobody loved Christmas more than her … but this year she was feeling stressed and irritable. If she wasn't careful, she told herself, she'd start stomping and glowering around the office like Scrooge McSteele.

She'd noticed that her usually genial partner grew increasingly subdued and tense as the holidays approached. Given what she'd come to know about his past, Laura suspected the season held no happy memories for him. It made her sad; she cherished her own recollections of festive celebrations back when her family was whole and happy.

The first Christmas after Steele had appeared in her life, Laura hadn't given much thought to how he spent the holidays. The office closed for two weeks as usual, Murphy headed off to Colorado, Bernice to San Bernadino, Laura to Connecticut. Back in the office in the new year, while Laura and the others talked of how glad they were to get back to work after two weeks of "family togetherness," Steele had regaled them with tales of his luxe ski vacation in Vail: glittering, celebrity-studded parties, gourmet meals, fascinating conversations over hot toddies in the lodge.

Last year, there was the slight awkwardness of being in a newish relationship. It was too soon to invite him to the family gathering back East, but they were close enough to warrant some commemoration of the holiday together. In the end, they'd had an informal office party with Mildred and Laura and Steele exchanged small gifts over a quiet dinner together the night before her flight to Connecticut.

This year, things were … different.

Laura sighed. Leaving the rest room, she stepped into the lobby. It was dark and quiet, Mildred having locked the office on her way out. As she reached her office door, Mr. Steele's opened and he looked at her in surprise.

"What are you still doing here?" they said simultaneously.

"Just finishing up some paperwork," Laura explained.

"Me, too." At Laura's skeptical look, he added, "Well, finishing up reading the sports pages. That's a kind of paper work, right?" He smiled slightly, then looked past Laura into the empty reception area. "Mildred's off, I take it?"

"Yes. Her flight leaves at 7:15."

"And you?"

Laura looked at him blankly. "Me, what?"

"Your flight." He swooped one arm skyward. "Shouldn't you be winging your way to a winter wonderland about now? Christmas in Connecticut?"

"Barbara Stanwyck, Dennis Morgan, Warner Brothers, 1945," Laura answered automatically.

Steele grinned. "Hey! That's my line."

"Sorry," Laura smirked. "It's becoming a bit of a habit, I'm afraid." He continued to look at her expectantly, so she added, "I'm not going East this year. Didn't I mention it?"

Mr. Steele's eyes widened slightly. "No, I don't think you did."

Laura shrugged and looked down at her shoes. "I guess not. We haven't really … talked … much lately."

"No, we haven't," he said softly. "How come?"

She looked up at him again. "Well, we've been busy. And, you know, we agreed to keep our business and personal lives separate, so-"

A look of irritation crossed Steele's handsome features. "I don't mean why aren't we talking. I KNOW why we're not talking. I meant, why aren't you going home for Christmas. But I guess that's a violation of the Cannes Accord." He said those last words with a slight edge in his voice. "I apologize." He started to turn back to his office.

"Wait a second," Laura said, catching him by the sleeve. "I really wasn't trying to keep it a secret. I've just been so preoccupied with work and … things … that I haven't really thought much about it myself. Or maybe I was repressing it." She pulled a wry face. "The whole Holt clan is coming out HERE this year."

"Really! A bit of a break with tradition, eh?"

"Yeah. The kids want to go to Disneyland, and I don't know what Frances told her about my apartment, but Mother says she wants to see if I'm really living in – and I quote – 'some kind of shed.'"

He chuckled at this. "I knew your mother and I had a lot in common. So you're playing hostess with the most-ess?"

She rolled her eyes. "How about you?" she asked him. "Plans for the holiday?"

"I'll be spending it with a few old friends."

Laura felt a jolt of surprise. She and Steele spent so much time together – well, at least until recently – that it hadn't occurred to her that he might have a social circle she didn't know about. She wondered how many of these "old friends" were from his shady past … and if any of them were women. Not that it was any of her business. Not anymore. "That's nice," she said. "I'm glad."

They stood looking at one another awkwardly for a moment, then suddenly a wary look appeared on Mr. Steele's face.

"So … you're cooking for the family?" His tone was so deliberately casual that Laura laughed out loud.

"I think you know better than that. We'll be eating out."

"Aw, Laura, no. Christmas dinner in some cold, impersonal restaurant?"

"It's either that or frozen pizza," Laura said, a little defensively. "I don't cook. And even if I did, my place isn't exactly set up for entertaining. I don't even have a table."

"That's what you get for living in a shed."

"Ha ha." Laura folded her arms across her chest. "It wasn't my idea to have Christmas in L.A. And my family knows I'm no Becky Home-Ecky. They'll just have to take what they get."

Steele looked at her, a mixture of emotions flickering across his features. Finally he said, "They could come to my place."

"Excuse me?"

"I could make dinner for your family. I do cook, and I have a dining room table – quite a large one, as you know."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd never ask you to feed my family."

"You didn't ask. I offered."

"I thought you were getting together with friends."

"Not until later in the evening. We could have dinner around 5:00 and I'd still have plenty of time."

Laura frowned, torn. "It's sweet of you to offer, but I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"If you're worried about violating our little agreement, don't," Steele said, his face darkening. "I'm not doing for you. I happen to like your family. I'm an excellent cook, and I enjoy entertaining. It seems like a perfectly logical solution to me."

"I'd have to insist on paying for the groceries …"

Sensing victory, his face lit up. "Fine."

"And I don't want you to go to a lot of trouble. Just the basics is fine," Laura said, knowing full well that Mr. Steele didn't do "just the basics." She could already see the wheels turning in his head, planning some elaborate menu. Still she hesitated, feeling a stab of guilt to even think of accepting his offer, especially given how things stood between them.

On the other hand, he seemed genuinely eager to do it – and it might mitigate some of the disapproval her mother was certain to express about Laura's lack of domestic acumen. Plus, like every other woman who met him, both her mother and Frances were crazy about her debonair associate. He'd even bonded with Donald, despite having little in common with the thoroughly domesticated dentist. Laura smiled to herself, remembering Mr. Steele's initial jealousy of her brother-in-law.

"Can I take your expression as agreement?" Steele said, noticing.

"More like capitulation," she answered, narrowing her eyes at him. "I know I'll never hear the end of it if I don't." Her expression softened. "Thank you, Mr. Steele."

Steele's smile practically lit up the lobby. "My pleasure, Miss Holt."

_December 25, 1984_

Laura paused outside the door to Steele's apartment. It was rather ridiculous that she should feel so nervous; she was as familiar with his place as her own. She couldn't explain the flutter in her stomach, or the reason she'd taken twice as long as usual to style her hair and decide what to wear. She'd tried on several outfits before deciding on a red, velvet sheath and matching pumps, accessorized with snowflake earrings. At the last minute, she'd impulsively added a delicate chain with a silver, heart-shaped pendant. It was framed beautifully by the sweetheart neckline of her dress.

Adjusting the thin package she held under her arm, Laura took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer. Nothing happened for a moment, but just as she was about to push it again, the door opened to reveal a slightly disheveled Mr. Steele. He was dressed in jeans and a light sweatshirt, spattered with some kind of sauce, and held a wooden spoon in one hand.

"Laura … hi!" he said, clearly surprised. "Um … you're early." She saw him look quickly at his watch. "Two-and-a-half hours early, to be exact." A look of confusion appeared on his face. "We agreed on 5:00, right?"

Laura couldn't help laughing at his discomposure. "Don't panic. I decided as long as you were providing the home-cooked dinner, the least I could do was help get things set up, or at least offer moral support." She stepped past him into the apartment, stealing another glance at him as she removed her wrap and laid it and the package she carried on the back of the sofa. His hair was tousled, a few strands hanging over one eye, and he had what appeared to be flour smudged on his left cheek. He looked mussed, discombobulated … adorable. Laura resisted a powerful urge to reach out and brush the hair off his forehead, wrap her arms around his neck, kiss him until she forgot why she wasn't supposed to.

"The family is still coming, right?" Steele asked, a little anxiously.

"Of course. They know the time and the place and will be here with bells on. At the moment, the kids are in the pool back at the hotel, Mother is keeping an eye on them and Frances and Donald are in their suite … ahem … _napping_." She punctuated the last word with air quotes.

Catching her meaning, Steele smirked. "I had no idea dentists were so, erm, energetic." He and Laura were well aware of how Mr. and Mrs. Piper had spent their afternoon alone in Laura's loft while the detectives were busy solving the murder of Donald's colleagues.

"They're like randy teenagers," Laura agreed, rolling her eyes. "If I end up with yet another niece or nephew in nine months, I'm nominating you for godfather." She mirrored his grin. "Now, what can I do?"

"I don't suppose you can make a bordelaise sauce?"

"Absolutely – assuming it comes in a can or one of those just-add-water foil packets."

Steele shuddered. "I think you'd better stay out of the kitchen." He cocked his head toward the long bank of windows at the far end of the living room. "Maybe you'll know what to do with that thing." Laura followed his gaze to a tall, perfectly shaped spruce standing in one corner.

"A Christmas tree!" Laura exclaimed, delighted.

Steele shrugged. "I toyed with stringing lights on the ficus, but decided the traditional route might be best. It was delivered last night, naked as a jaybird. I ordered the deluxe kit, and expected it would at least be decorated, but they just set the thing up there and left."

Laura noticed a pile of cartons underneath the tree, apparently the decorations that came with the "kit." Her eyes lit up in anticipation. "Tree decorating. Now THAT'S something I know about. Let me at it!" She started toward it, then paused. "You're sure there's nothing I can do to help with dinner?" She noted that whatever had been on the wooden spoon in his hand had begun to drip down his arm. "You seem a little frazzled."

Steele looked affronted. "Ah … well, you weren't supposed to see this part. A definite _faux pas_, Miss Holt. Like the groom seeing the bride before the wedding." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The secret to successful entertaining is to scramble like hell to make it all look completely effortless. It may appear chaotic now, but I assure you, I have everything under complete control." Suddenly a loud pinging sounded from the kitchen. "Duty calls!" Steele exclaimed. Waving his spoon in the general direction of the tree, he gasped a quick "Carry on!" as he dashed off to his domain.

In some ways, Laura thought as she sorted the boxes of ornaments by size and color, decorating a Christmas tree is much like solving a math problem or cracking a case: patience, logic and an eye for detail are the key skills needed. Steele's tree kit came with clear lights, which she wove carefully among the boughs; next she arranged the ornaments, a gorgeous assortment of crystal, gold and silver baubles. She worked with deliberation, placing first one, then another on the branches, studying the result and rearranging as needed until she was satisfied. The final step was draping a garland of faceted glass beads in graceful arcs around the tree. That done, she stepped behind the tree, plugged in the lights and stepped back to survey her handiwork. The tree glowed softly, the glass and metallic ornaments catching and reflecting the lights to create a shimmering effect.

"Beautiful," came a softly accented male voice behind her.

Laura turned to see Mr. Steele leaning in the doorway to his bedroom, looking at her. Some time while she was laboring on the tree, he'd showered and changed into neatly pressed navy slacks and a cream-colored sweater. His slightly damp hair was meticulously styled. In short, there was no trace of the harried chef who had greeted her a couple of hours before. The impeccable Remington Steele persona was firmly in place. He looked relaxed, confident, sexy as hell. And he was staring at her with those sparkling blue eyes and a slight smile on his face. Laura felt her heart pounding at the base of her throat as he sauntered toward her.

"Ta da!" she said, a little shakily. "What do you think?"

"Magnificent." His eyes didn't leave hers. "And the tree looks pretty good, too." His smile broadened into that breathtaking, lop-sided grin.

"Thanks. Not bad, if I do say so myself." She suddenly noticed an incredible aroma emanating from the kitchen. "I have a feeling it will pale in comparison with whatever masterpiece you've got going in there, though. It smells fantastic."

Steele affected a look of casual insouciance. "Just a little something I threw together," he remarked. They looked at each other a moment, then simultaneously burst out laughing. "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it," he said.

Mr. Steele circled the tree, scanning it from top to bottom. He frowned slightly. "Something's missing."

Laura felt her defenses go up. She opened her mouth to express her indignance, but he'd already scurried back to his bedroom. He returned seconds later, a load of brightly wrapped packages in his arms.

"Presents?" Laura gasped. "You didn't need-"

"For the kids," Steele interrupted, his eyes twinkling delightedly. He knelt down and arranged the gifts under the tree. Getting to his feet, he joined Laura looking at the tree. "_Now_ it's perfect."

"Yes," Laura murmured. "It is."

Laura was acutely aware of him standing so very close to her. She gave him a sidelong glance and saw his gaze was fixed in the vicinity of her cleavage. A little startled at this uncharacteristic lechery, Laura raised a hand to cover the expanse of bare flesh, and felt the silver pendant there. That was what he was looking at, she realized.

"Recognize this?" she said lightly, fingering the little heart.

He nodded. "I was beginning to think you didn't like it."

"I don't know what you mean," Laura said uneasily.

"You've never worn it."

The plaintive note in his tone made Laura cringe inwardly. It was true. After he gave it to her after closing the Chef Gaston's frozen dinners case, she'd tucked it away in her jewelry box. It was so classic, so beautiful — and it scared her to death. She didn't know what it meant. He'd given her a heart … _his_ heart? Or did he believe wooing her with candlelight dinners and expensive gifts would help him get her into bed? Laura didn't want to think he had such ulterior motives. But it was such an unexpected, romantic gesture. The necklace confused her, and Laura didn't like to feel confused. So, like so many other aspects of her relationship with this handsome enigma, she tucked the gift away in a metaphorical file labeled "I'll deal with this later." Unfortunately, it appeared that "later" was now.

"Well, it's too nice for work," she stammered. "I wouldn't want to lose it. I-I've been saving it for a really special occasion."

His expression brightened a bit. "You consider this a special occasion?"

"It's Christmas."

He extended an index finger and slowly traced the outline of the silver heart where it lay on her sternum, then placed the finger under her chin to gently lift her face toward his. "Funny, since I met you every day feels like Christmas."

A wave of tenderness and longing washed over her and she half expected to melt into a puddle at the man's feet. The intensity of those blue eyes staring into hers robbed her of whatever willpower she had left. She swayed slightly toward him, and suddenly his arms were around her waist and hers were sliding around his neck … she heard him sigh her name as her lips parted and her eyes drifted shut—

Bzzzzzzzzz!

They lurched apart at the sound of the door buzzer. "Your family are infuriatingly punctual," Steele said with a wry smile. As he headed to greet his guests, Laura adjusted her dress and quickly fanned herself. She prayed her flushed appearance would be interpreted as general holiday cheer, but the smirk on Frances' face as she greeted her sister suggested she at least had her suspicions. Or perhaps it was only the afterglow of her own afternoon tryst, Laura hoped.

As she collected everybody's jackets, Laura heard Abigail oohing and aahing over the tree.

"All Laura's doing," Steele told her. "I'm useless with that sort of thing." He looked over at his partner and gave her a wink. "Anybody hungry? The sooner we eat, the sooner we get to the presents!"

Dinner, of course, was a triumph: Pear, arugula and endive salad with candied walnuts; blackened standing rib roast with bordelaise sauce; maple-glazed carrots; potato parsnip gratin; and parmesan popovers. At exactly the moment Laura decided she couldn't possibly eat another bite, Mr. Steele got to his feet. "Who's up for dessert?"

Cheers from the kids, groans of protest from the adults. "Whatcha got?" Danny asked.

"Nothing fancy, just pie," Steele answered. "Traditional mincemeat, of course, and Dutch apple. Oh, and for the ladies," he glanced from Laura to Frances and back to Laura again, "French silk."

More cheers and groans. "This man is trying to kill me, Laura," Frances said, pushing aside her dinnerplate to make room for dessert.

Half an hour later, Laura stood next to the ficus and surveyed the chaotic scene in the living room. It appeared as if a small tornado had passed through - the floor and furniture strewn with tattered wrapping paper, empty gift boxes and various bits plastic packaging. Mindy knelt beside the coffee table, enacting dramatic scenes between Ken and Skipper inside her new Barbie beach cottage; Donald dozed on the couch, oblivious to the tumult around him; Abigail was helping Laurie Beth maneuver around the dining room table on a pink My Little Pony rider, and Mr. Steele and Daniel were sitting cross-legged on the carpet next to the Christmas tree, engrossed in assembling a radio-controlled model of Knight Rider's car.

Frances emerged from the kitchen, a glass of wine in each hand. She joined Laura on the perimeter of the action and handed her sister a glass. At that moment, Daniel and Steele erupted with excited shouts as the KITT car came to life and careened forward, narrowly missing Mindy and upending Ken and Barbie's little plastic bistro set. "Hey!" Mindy complained as man and boy exchanged sheepish looks.

Laura chuckled softly and threw Mr. Steele a mock warning look. In response, he grinned and shrugged helplessly, then turned his attention to constructing a ramp out of a piece of cardboard and one of his shoes.

"It was sweet of Remington to get presents for the kids," Frances said.

"Uh-huh. But I have a feeling Danny may have to wrestle that car away from him to take it home," Laura smiled.

Frances leaned in close to Laura's ear. "He's a keeper, sis," she whispered.

Laura felt a jolt of embarrassment. "We just work together, Fran."

"Gimme a break. I saw how the two of you were when Donald and I were here in February."

"Things have changed."

Frances placed a hand on Laura's arm and pulled her around to face her. "Oh, yeah? This is me, remember? I've known you your whole life. I see the way you look at him – and the way he looks at you. The man is obviously head over heels. And you can't tell me you don't have feelings for him. It's written all over you."

Laura sighed. "It's … complicated."

"Let me clue you in on something, baby sister. Men are complicated. Relationships are complicated. _Life_ is complicated." She put an arm around Laura's shoulder. "If you're holding out for simple, you'll be waiting a long time."

"That's encouraging," Laura said dryly.

Frances laughed. "I know your logical mind won't admit it, but complicated can be fun. Crazy sometimes, but good." She cast a loving gaze over her brood, then looked back at Laura. "And when it's good, Laura, when it's _right_ … it's better than anything."

Before Laura could respond, a loud snort drew their attention to the sofa, where Donald had fallen fully asleep. His mouth slack and drooling slightly, he was snoring. The kids began laughing uproariously, startling him awake. "Wha-?" he mumbled.

Frances rolled her eyes at Laura and went to rouse her husband. "Looks like it's past someone's bedtime," she said. "Get your things together, kids. I think it's time we were getting back to the hotel."

Now it was the kids' turn to groan in protest.

"Already?" Steele said, sounding as disappointed as the youngsters. He retrieved his shoe and stood to bid his guests farewell.

"Did everybody thank Mr. Steele for the amazing dinner and presents?" Frances prompted as she handed out the jackets that Laura had fetched from the bedroom.

Daniel and Mindy thanked him enthusiastically, and little Laurie Beth toddled up to him with arms raised to be picked up. He hoisted her into his arms. "Thank you for the My Little Pony, Rembington," she said seriously. "It's my best present ever."

"Are you coming back to the hotel with us, Laura?" Abigail asked.

"You go ahead. I'm going to help clean up. I'll probably see you later … or tomorrow." Laura pointedly ignored the sly look Frances gave her.

After another round of hugs and handshakes, the noisy crowd tumbled out into the hallway. As Laura and Steele watched the elevator doors close on the family, they heard Danny ask, "Can we come back tomorrow, Mom?"

"I think you were a hit," Laura said as they turned back into the apartment.

"I'm glad everyone had a good time." Steele smiled. "You didn't have to stay to help clean up, Laura. You should spend your time with your family."

"Well, too much togetherness can be …" she shook her head, "… too much." She looked around the shambles of the living room. "I'll get started here. If you have to leave, go ahead. I'll lock up on my way out."

She looked back at Steele and noted the blank look on his face.

"Leave?" he said.

"To go to your party."

"Ah! Yes, of course. The party. Well, it won't matter if I'm a bit late. These soirees tend to go on into the wee hours."

Laura put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a level gaze. "There's no party, is there?"

Her partner looked distinctly uncomfortable. "There most certainly is. I can honestly say I intend to spend the rest of the evening with old friends."

"Anybody I know?"

He maintained his innocent expression a few seconds, then rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head in defeat. "Yes, I believe you are familiar with them. Let's see." He began ticking off the guest list on his fingers. "There's Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed, Lionel Barrymore and the delightful denizens of Bedford Falls."

"You're going to watch an old movie?"

"A _classic_ movie, Laura. No matter where I am in the world, it's always playing on some channel on Christmas night. A little tradition of my own."

Laura realized with a thud that her partner didn't spend his holidays mingling with celebrities and living the high life, as he'd been content to let her believe. He spent it alone, watching happy, fictional families celebrating together – perhaps imagining himself among them. Laura felt ashamed for grousing about having her mother and Frances' family too much around.

"I haven't seen that movie in years," she said. "Mind if I join you?"

Steele looked surprised. "I'd love it." A slightly smug look appeared on his face. "But isn't that a violation of the Cannes Agreement?"

He _would_ have to bring that up. "You're right," she said seriously. "Perhaps I'd better go home after all."

His face fell and he looked so stricken that she couldn't keep up the pretense. So she punched him lightly in the arm and said, "That will teach you to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mr. Steele."

"Forget I said anything," Steele pleaded. "Cannes? Cannes? What's a Cannes? I've never been to Cannes in my life."

Well, how could she keep from laughing at that? "Actually, I recall reading about an incident that occurred in World War I. At the height of the conflict, for one night – Christmas night – the two sides spontaneously declared a truce. German and British troops crawled out of their trenches and gathered together in No Man's Land to sing carols and share stories and play games. The next morning, the war was back on. But they had that one night of peace."

"I'd hate to think we're at war, Laura."

"No, but things have been … strange … between us. I know I'm responsible for that; I set up these boundaries." Laura looked down at her feet. "I still think it was the right decision. But, well, it's Christmas!" she finished awkwardly and looked back at him.

His eyes were warm as he reached out to gently caress her cheek. "You'll get no argument from me, Miss Holt."

She smiled. "So which do you want – dishes or living room?"

"Heaven forbid you should develop dishpan hands on my account," he said, taking both her hands lightly in his own. "If you clear away the debris in here, I'll load the dishwasher. The hand washing can wait until tomorrow."

It didn't take Laura long to stuff the remnants of the gift-opening into plastic garbage bags and deliver them to the chute down the hall. She straightened the furniture, rolled the TV in from the bedroom and lit the candles that were arranged on side tables and shelves around the room. She hesitated a moment, then clicked off the overhead light, leaving the space illuminated only by the glow of the Christmas tree and candles.

Steele came out of the kitchen, carrying steaming mugs. "Hot, buttered rum," he explained, setting the mugs on the coffee table. He sat down on the couch and motioned for her to join him.

"Just a sec," she said. She walked around to the back of the tree and pulled out the package she'd concealed under the tree skirt.

"A little thank you for cooking dinner and putting up with my family, and … everything." She handed him the package and sat down at his side.

"You know I was glad to do it," he said, and she believed him. It occurred to Laura that this might have been the first Christmas in his life that he'd spent with a family, and her heart ached a little.

He began carefully unwrapping the present in deference to Laura's penchant for saving the paper.

"It's Christmas," she said indulgently. "Go ahead and rip it."

He grinned broadly and tore the paper off, revealing a coffee table book, _The Golden Age of Hollywood._ It was filled with photos and stills, captioned with anecdotes from old-time movie stars, from Mr. Steele's favorite era, the late 1920s-1950s.

"I love it!" he exclaimed, genuinely delighted. A little tentatively, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Knowing the gift pleased him gave Laura a little thrill of joy. Such small things meant so much to him.

Steele got to his feet. "I, uh, have something for you, too." He went to the bedroom and returned with a box about six inches tall and four inches wide. Instead of being wrapped, it was covered with dark blue velvet. A silver bow perched on the top. He handed it to Laura, sat, and waited for her to open it.

A little nervously, Laura pulled the bow off and lifted the lid. She pulled out an ornament – an impossibly delicate, blown-glass angel. "It's exquisite," Laura breathed.

"I was going to enroll you in the Chocolate-of-the-Month Club," Steele teased, "but I saw this in the window of Tiffany's and-" He hesitated. "It made me think of you."

Laura held the ornament up, allowing the light from the Christmas tree to glisten on the angel's tiny wings. The light from the candles blurred as Laura's eyes filled. She blinked quickly. When she felt surer of herself, she turned to him and smiled a little shyly. "It's my best present ever … Rembington."

She set the angel down on the coffee table, then leaned close to him and pressed her lips softly against his. They parted briefly, looking deeply into each other's eyes, then came together again. The kiss deepened as Laura pressed herself close against him, feeling his heart and her heart pounding in something approximating unison. At last, the kiss trailed off into a series of feather-light pecks until they were nose to nose again. "Merry Christmas," Laura whispered against his lips.

"You better believe it," Steele answered, his eyes shining.

Reluctantly, Laura pulled back. "Movie time, Mr. Steele?"

He leaned over the coffee table and snapped the set on. The movie had already started; Clarence was reviewing George Bailey's childhood as Steele settled back and Laura nestled up next to him. As the black-and-white celluloid flickered across the screen and Mr. Steele put his arm around her to draw her closer, Laura closed her eyes and smiled. Maybe Frances was right, she thought as she began to drift off into a doze. This man definitely made her existence more complicated. But all in all, she had to admit, it's a wonderful life.

END


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